Page 58 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

“Why?”

“We should know each other. I’d like to know you, Brody.”

He glanced over, and in those green eyes, I could so easily lose myself. Brody gave me a single nod, then returned his gaze to the road.

“Thank—” My mouth closed at the black SUV parked in front of the house. “Company?”

He shook his head and parked the car in the driveway.

Ron, who I was convinced had magical powers, appeared out of nowhere to open my door. “Miss Aria.”

“Don’t bow.” I got out and shook my head. “Ron, if we’re going to get along, you have to stop bowing like I’m Queen Elizabeth.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. Then the wiseass bowed. “Very well, miss.”

“You’re as insufferable as that one.” I hooked a thumb toward Brody.

Ron retrieved a set of keys from his pocket and took them to Brody. Then with a nod, he disappeared inside the house.

“Here.” Brody walked over and took my hand in his, pressing the cold metal keys into my palm. “For you.”

> “For me what?” I jiggled the keys.

“The car. It’s for you.”

My jaw dropped. “You bought me a car. A BMW. Without asking me about it first.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

And just like that, our two-day no-fighting streak came to an end.

Chapter Eleven

Brody

Her laughter greeted me when the flower shop’s door chime faded. I followed the musical sound toward the back of the shop, expecting to find her at the long wooden counter that held the cash register and a fresh bundle of blue hydrangeas. The only reason I knew they were hydrangeas was because of the little chalkboard sign beside it.

Hydrangeas $15/Bunch

There was a metal bell beside the mason jar of pens, and I tapped the plunger, then held my breath.

Marty came out first. The smile on his face dropped, something I’d never seen before because the guy always had a smile for me. “If you’re not here to grovel, I’d head to the door before she sees you.”

“I’m here to grovel.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Head on back.”

“Thanks.” I rounded the counter for the door, ducking into the workroom.

Aria’s smile, like Marty’s, dropped when she looked past the arrangement she was making. “Are you here to buy me a pony? An island? An island of ponies?”

“Not today.”

She picked up a rose from the metal table and stabbed it into the vase she was filling. Her hair was braided over one shoulder with wisps loose around her ears. Her brown eyes sparkled—angry, but I did love their fire. Her cheeks held a pink flush.

Aria was more beautiful than any flower in the world. Even mad, she was lovelier than any rose.

This was the first time I’d seen her in three days, other than small glimpses of her coming and going from Clara’s place or this shop. I took her in like a thirsty man standing before a clear mountain stream.